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Dec. 18th, 2004 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anotherusedpageWarning for iambic pentameter.
The sword I bear is heavy at my side,
And all men know its name. The name
Gives it weight, the weight of stone;
I must hold it aloft, though my arms
Are as weak as any man’s – this sword
I bear, like any other sword
Of the same steel made, from the same
Heat forged, and the same strength and craft;
Sharp enough to cut through stone
And strong enough to hold back pain,
And light enough to swing and strike –
And all is light, the shining of the forge’s
Golden light upon the silver blade, or
The reflection of sunlight, or moonlight, or star,
Or the sparking of blade against blade – all is light,
And yet drags at my arms as though
Weighted down with sin, and stays
In my mind like the shadow of the night
Spitting sparks, but reflecting naught –
There’s naught but darkness to reflect
I sometimes think – the corners of my mind
Are where the battle for Logres will be fought
And all the many-splendoured towers
And all the sharpened swords in all the kingdom
And all the weighty names will come
To naught. The sword is heavy, and I am
Just a man, a man who found a fated sword
A man whose birth was somehow touched –
These high things are no doing of mine,
I pay the price twice over for deceit,
And somehow now the fate of the kingdom
Is my fate, and rides upon my shoulders,
And lives in the shadows of my mind.
I love. I am loved. I do not wish to fight.
My towered walls are strong, I would
Remain behind them, if I had my way.
I am no coward, I am just a man. My arm
Is as strong as any man’s, and as weak,
And my sword is only different
In name. My table is designed such
That no man sits above another
All are equal, all should share the fate
And yet it is mine, and mine alone you say –
No man should stand alone! – and when I try
To take for myself a one to comfort me
To share my bed and ease my burden
To unbuckled the sword at the end of the day
You sigh, and hold your head between your hands
As though the battle un-fought is already lost.
Old friend, you place such store by magic words
Do not then tell me with your eyes
That I have already sealed my fate.
The sword is heavy at my side, and I
Would set it down awhile, that later
I may the better bear it. Is that so wrong?
Nay, do not answer. Do not speak the words
That would condemn the choice I cannot make.
It is no choice. The sword is heavy, and
The shadows of my mind are dark, and yet
I love and I am loved. Though I will fight my fight
You think my fate is fixed, first by love unclean,
And then by love too bright to turn from.
Do not seal my fate in magic words, old man.
Do not tell me. I will not hear.
*
Fandom: King Arthur - the version in Jessie's Head.
Disclaimer: I should think Arthur is in the public domain. Having said that, this was written at the beginning of last year when I was reading Tennyson's dramatic monologues. When it's poetry, it's called alluding, not stealing. :p
It's also the first and only poem of this type I've ever written.
*
And as a bonus because I am running so late, and looking through old stuff, and they kinda fit together, and it didn't need any editing:
English Heritage have done a good job of preserving Tintagel
It’s the same rain that rained down on King Arthur, probably
The same furious grey sky, the same unforgiving wind
Torturing the same endless sea into a frenzy of waves
Which in turn take out their frustration against the same coastline,
Cruelly cutting caves into the same defenceless cliffs
Yes, they’ve done a good job at Tintagel, English Heritage
The tourists with their guidebooks and waterproof coats
And the children in pink Wellingtons with plastic swords
Running endlessly up and down the slippery paths
Can soak in the knowledge that grey stone and sea are still
Under King Arthur’s Rain.
The sword I bear is heavy at my side,
And all men know its name. The name
Gives it weight, the weight of stone;
I must hold it aloft, though my arms
Are as weak as any man’s – this sword
I bear, like any other sword
Of the same steel made, from the same
Heat forged, and the same strength and craft;
Sharp enough to cut through stone
And strong enough to hold back pain,
And light enough to swing and strike –
And all is light, the shining of the forge’s
Golden light upon the silver blade, or
The reflection of sunlight, or moonlight, or star,
Or the sparking of blade against blade – all is light,
And yet drags at my arms as though
Weighted down with sin, and stays
In my mind like the shadow of the night
Spitting sparks, but reflecting naught –
There’s naught but darkness to reflect
I sometimes think – the corners of my mind
Are where the battle for Logres will be fought
And all the many-splendoured towers
And all the sharpened swords in all the kingdom
And all the weighty names will come
To naught. The sword is heavy, and I am
Just a man, a man who found a fated sword
A man whose birth was somehow touched –
These high things are no doing of mine,
I pay the price twice over for deceit,
And somehow now the fate of the kingdom
Is my fate, and rides upon my shoulders,
And lives in the shadows of my mind.
I love. I am loved. I do not wish to fight.
My towered walls are strong, I would
Remain behind them, if I had my way.
I am no coward, I am just a man. My arm
Is as strong as any man’s, and as weak,
And my sword is only different
In name. My table is designed such
That no man sits above another
All are equal, all should share the fate
And yet it is mine, and mine alone you say –
No man should stand alone! – and when I try
To take for myself a one to comfort me
To share my bed and ease my burden
To unbuckled the sword at the end of the day
You sigh, and hold your head between your hands
As though the battle un-fought is already lost.
Old friend, you place such store by magic words
Do not then tell me with your eyes
That I have already sealed my fate.
The sword is heavy at my side, and I
Would set it down awhile, that later
I may the better bear it. Is that so wrong?
Nay, do not answer. Do not speak the words
That would condemn the choice I cannot make.
It is no choice. The sword is heavy, and
The shadows of my mind are dark, and yet
I love and I am loved. Though I will fight my fight
You think my fate is fixed, first by love unclean,
And then by love too bright to turn from.
Do not seal my fate in magic words, old man.
Do not tell me. I will not hear.
*
Fandom: King Arthur - the version in Jessie's Head.
Disclaimer: I should think Arthur is in the public domain. Having said that, this was written at the beginning of last year when I was reading Tennyson's dramatic monologues. When it's poetry, it's called alluding, not stealing. :p
It's also the first and only poem of this type I've ever written.
*
And as a bonus because I am running so late, and looking through old stuff, and they kinda fit together, and it didn't need any editing:
English Heritage have done a good job of preserving Tintagel
It’s the same rain that rained down on King Arthur, probably
The same furious grey sky, the same unforgiving wind
Torturing the same endless sea into a frenzy of waves
Which in turn take out their frustration against the same coastline,
Cruelly cutting caves into the same defenceless cliffs
Yes, they’ve done a good job at Tintagel, English Heritage
The tourists with their guidebooks and waterproof coats
And the children in pink Wellingtons with plastic swords
Running endlessly up and down the slippery paths
Can soak in the knowledge that grey stone and sea are still
Under King Arthur’s Rain.